


France, The World Cup and Other Things to Miss - Marco Reus

by xSandra



Series: Other Things - series [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSandra/pseuds/xSandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>❝Just kiss me, Eloise, I have been waiting for this since the first email.❞</p><p>After Marco sends an email to the wrong Email address, he finds himself in a complicated relationship with a girl he has never met in real life before.</p><p> © 2014 - xSandra</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Saturday, February 22, 2014, 10:45PM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: no subject

I am assuming our meeting is still on next Friday?  
Now that I am here anyways, how are you doing?   
\---

From: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Sent: Saturday, February 22, 2014, 10:51PM  
To: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Subject: RE: no subject

I think you have the wrong email address.  
I can't remember having a meeting next Friday.

But I'm doing great, thanks for asking. How are you?  
\---  
MARCO  
I guess we have all sent emails to the wrong person once or received them. We misspell one of the words or write confuse the numbers and put them in a different order. We never got a reply back. When I get a wrong email, I usually mark it as spam or I delete it and don't reply. But I have never before gotten a reply to one of them, until this one particular Saturday in February, 2014. It was how it all started.  
I was supposed to meet up one of my team mates in a restaurant the following Friday and I wanted to know if he was still up for it. I did recently dropped my phone, had to send it to repairs and lost pretty much all my contacts, so my option was to send him an email. So I did, as I was typing the email I should've realized that the numbers were incorrect, but of course, I didn't. And I had sent it already. I send an email to the right email address and ignored it.  
But then, I got an email from her. She just replied that it was the wrong email and answered to my “how are you?” meant for my team mate. It sent a smile straight to my face and I replied back to her. And we kept talking. And talking. And now we are at a point where we email every morning and every evening. And I still don't know her name and she doesn't know mine.   
Being Marco Reus, a member of the national team of Germany, it's hard to date someone that doesn't know your identity from just seeing you or hearing your name. But using your email address, it gives you some kind of anonymity. Some strange form of satisfaction.   
And yes, the messages started to get a little romantic, at least from my side. I was flirting with her and I am still flirting with her. I want to get to know her. She is my favorite person of all time. I don't know her, I don't know her name, I don't know where she lives. I know that she doesn't speak German, that is clear. She could be American, Chinese, Belgian, Italian, Indonesian, French... She is one little dot on the globe and I don't know which one she is. I know she wants to know who I am as well. But can I trust her the information? I don't know if I can. I have only known her for a month or three. I'm torn.   
“Marco, keep your head in the game,” the coach shouts and I try. I really try. But my mind is with my phone where I can check my email. I yell something back, yet not really meaning it. I run around, shoot the ball in the goal a couple of times and run back. It's exhausting, but it's the nicest feeling ever. Football has always been something I wanted to do professionally and I somehow got my chance. I play in the national team of Germany and I play at Dortmund. And it's great. I have met great guys who are now really good friends, but the only person that I currently just want to meet is her. But she is somewhere and she's probably not where I am.  
After training, the first thing I do is to walk to my phone and to check if she emailed me. She hasn't emailed me in hours and I kind of missed her attention. I sigh and ignore the others when I walk into the showers and feel the hot streams of water fall down on me. After a few minutes, the steam starts to crawl up my legs and I don't even hear the chanting and the chatter of the others anymore.   
I remove the sweat and the hair gel from my hair and when I'm done, I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around me and walk through the shower compartment back to my clothing. Obviously, I am the first to come back from the showers and the first one to get back fully clothed, so that I can claim one of the mirrors so I can do my hair again. I am quick this time, quicker than I usually am. I pack my sweaty clothes and dump them in the box so it will get washed for next time. I throw the bag on my shoulder and I sigh. It's been a training. Next time we'd be training with the national team again. You know, to get to know each other's moves and all. We have a few friendly games coming up before the World Cup in June. At least I have my dear friend, Mario in the same team as me. We get along great, but it hasn't been the same since he left for Bayern München last season.   
I walk through the doors and make my way to my car. You would assume that I'd drive a Ferrari looking like I do. But I don't I drive an Audi, which is way more fashionable than a Ferrari. I place the sunglasses on my face and step into the car and drive home. Hoping that when I would turn the computer on, the first thing that would pop on my screen was an email from her.  
You might wonder why I know she is a female and not a male. We once were talking and she mentioned something only a woman would have mentioned: periods. Unless it's a creepy guy that gets off by the idea of portraying a girl, that would also be an option. But I doubt it. I really doubt that she would be catfishing me. Because she has told me so many things, and I have told her so many things. Yet I did leave out the fact that I am Marco Reus. And she left out the fact that she is who she is.  
We did once talk about what we looked liked and she knows I'm a guy. I told her I am of the male gender. I told her what hair color and eye color I have. And all the information I wanted to know. And she told me she had a pixie cut and I must admit that I had no idea what that was. I had to google to find out that she had short hair. Why couldn't she just have said that? She has green eyes and a round face that she definitely doesn't like. Every day I try to picture her in my head, but I can't do it. I want to see her. Like really see her.   
The roads are empty and it's getting dark. I haven't been a big fan of the winter and spring months myself. I prefer summer. Except that summer always reminds me of someone. Summer. Summer reminds me of Summer. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever known. Her hair as blonde as it already was, turning even fairer in the summer. Her eyes, always happy, and sparkling when I kissed her. But then suddenly, one day, she was gone.   
Being the innocent 23 year old as I was 2 years ago, I proposed to her, asked her to marry me after we'd been together for about 4 years. I thought it was time, and honestly she thought it was too. We had thought about having a family back then already but it never happened. I have never thought about again after that one night.


	2. Chapter 2

From: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Sent: Thursday, May 15, 2014, 09:18AM  
To: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Subject: add something interesting here: ...

You must definitely add something interesting to the email subject, because I can't come up with a proper title. And 'no subject' sounds so stupid. Even though it's the least important part...

What's your favorite color?  
\---

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Thursday, May 15, 2014, 09:24AM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: RE: add something interesting here: you

I added something interesting to the subject.

My favorite color is yellow. The jersey's of my favorite football team are yellow: Borussia Dortmund. What's yours?  
\---  
ELOISE  
Squealing a little as I read his last email. I had been emailing with him for the past few months and it was starting to get a little serious now. We emailed each other every day and sometimes we flirted with each other. At least, it's what you can call flirting over emails. He and I. We haven't particularly discussed what we looked like. I barely know anything about him. At least, now I know that he is a fan of football, which is great, because I'm a football fan myself. Not that fanatic, but I enjoy to watch some games. My little sister is a huge fan of Ronaldo, I'm not sure what country he plays at, but I'm sure it Portugal, but she really thinks he's adorable and sexy, while I'm not really into that kind of people. I'm into my mystery email guy. Whatever his name is. Whoever he is.   
I usually spend my days in Paris, that's where I live and I was born just outside of Paris. I wouldn't want to change anything about my situation. I own a fairly big place outside of Paris, close to the university where I'm just finishing off my last year as a Journalism student. I never really planned to study Journalism, but I wanted to something with writing and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Interviewing and all isn't really my thing, but I did get to interview a great Spanish singer, some Italian author that I didn't know and I got to interview Antoine Griezmann, who is a really cute football player that plays in the French national team. You might wonder how I got to interview him, well that is not such an interesting story. My teacher is an aunt of a player in the national team, don't ask me who, and she somehow managed to arrange interviews for me and the other students. It was a really big thing, we had to write an article about it and all. It was fun, but it took quite a lot of time to arrange and finish.   
And my phone rings once again. I have been phoning the entire morning, and it's starting to get on my nerves a little. I have no problem with phoning, not at all, it's just really annoying when you're trying to something else and someone is constantly calling you. In this case, my sister. She is 20 and in her second year of History somewhere in the south of France. But she has constant technical problems and she thinks I'm the one to call when she has problems with her internet or her television. I honestly suggested to call one of her male friends whenever she has concerns, but she always calls me first. Sometimes I wish I could not answer and she would give up. But she doesn't. That's the problem.   
“Salut Rosalie, is it time for me to help you again?” I say sarcastically to my sister on the other end of the line.   
“Eloise, thank the lord you're picking up, I have major issues with my internet and-” she says before I cut her off once again.   
“I am not an expert with the internet, I think it's best if you call someone that does understand all the cables and all the words and buttons, because I don't, especially not with this distance between us,” I say and in the meantime I stir in my pasta sauce that I'm already preparing for the evening. Thank the person that invented the speaker option on the phone.   
“Oh...” is all I hear at the other end of the line and I chuckle, “Who do you think I should call?”  
“Anyone, you probably have a lot of friends, maybe some in the IT department of your college,” I mumble and my phone buzzes, which means I either have a text or an email and I'm hoping for the latter one, “Look, Rosalie, if you really don't mind, I have to continue with my day, okay?”  
“Okay,” she says, “I guess we'll speak later.”   
“We will, don't worry,” I say and turn the heat of the stove down a little.   
“I miss you,” Rosalie says and this is the point where she gets all emotional over nothing. I sigh, deeply. It's great, having a sister and all. But if you have a sister like Rosalie, it's a little hard to deal with. She's different. Not so much in looks, but more her mental state. We had her checked and every doctor, psychologist or psychiatrist came to another conclusion, so we ended it all. We just know she is a bit different, but she is really smart, just not that social and she likes to keep around the same people.  
“I know, I miss you too,” I say to her, “I will see you in a couple of weeks.” And with that I closed the call. I might sound a little bit rude to her, but she calls me so often, that at some point she gets on your nerves. I click to see who send me a message and yes, it was him again. In a couple of weeks, my sister and I would go to Brazil to watch one of the games of France. I wouldn't know if they would get any far in the competition, but I'm sure they would do their best. My sister really wanted to see Ronaldo play, but we couldn't score any tickets at a reasonable prize. Then again, it's the World Cup, everything is way too overpriced.   
I hum a song and turn off the stove. I dance to the sofa and sit down as I read the message he wrote me this time. I grin as I send back that I have no specific favorite football club. He says he plays football and that he might go to the World Cup too. My heart drops to my stomach. This could obviously be a reason to meet, wouldn't it? I hope so. I hope he'd be willing to meet me. But every time I had asked him about his name, he would wipe it away. He could be catfishing me. I shake the thought away. He wouldn't, would he? I thought we had some connection, and I was really hoping that this connection was real even when we meet in real life. Because he seems great, absolutely fantastic.   
My stomach fills with butterflies as I type an email back. An email that mentions that I want to meet him. And that I want to know who he is. Because honestly, in these few months, I have fallen for him. I have started to like my mystery email guy. Whoever he is. And I think I'd be gutted if he ended up to be a woman or a 50-year old man. Mystery email guy listens to what I have to say, well, he reads what I have to type. He's great. I start the computer and start doing some googling. I visit my Facebook and read the news. Nothing special happened in my boring life. So I decided to open some coursework that I still have to do before the end of the week. Great. And the only thing I want, is him to email me back.


	3. Chapter 3

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Saturday, May 17, 2014, 02:21AM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: please

I want to meet you.  
\---

From: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Sent: Saturday, May 17, 2014, 09:53AM  
To: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Subject: RE: please

You know that's not possible.  
\---

MARCO  
There I am. Browsing through my ex-girlfriend's Facebook page in the middle of the night. Nothing has changed in the past years. Nothing has been updated. Just a ton of messages have been left on her page. They all say the same. Rest In Peace, Summer. May your soul live on. At first, I got a ton of messages on my page as well, but after a while it died down. They think I have forgotten about her, but actually every anniversary I spend my time on her Facebook page, listening to her voicemail. I miss her. But with a new girl in the picture, I should probably get over it. Maybe. It's been years ago. And we weren't even living together. She just was gone like that. It's not that I've had the time to say goodbye or that I was the one breaking up. We didn't ever break up. We were supposed to be forever...  
She wouldn't email me back before the morning, she was probably busy with her own life or asleep. I mean, it's Saturday, everyone is out drinking and I'm here, at home, being miserable. I'm not saying I hate life or anything, I just get depressed from time to time thinking about her.   
Why did she answer that it's not possible? It is the first thought when I read her email. I don't know why we wouldn't be able to meet. If it's the distance? Then I see no reason to. I travel the world and wherever she lives, I will go. I will pay for the ticket if she wants to come here in Germany instead. Money is not a problem for me. What else could possibly be keeping her back. If she's a man? I doubt it. She is insecure about herself. Well most girls are, and honestly, I don't think I care about the way she looks. Unless she happens to be a man of course, I mean, I'm not into men. I should really tell her that and I start typing up an email, that no matter what she looks like, it won't change the way I feel about her. And it's true. She would go to the World Cup, at least for one game. I don't know which one, but that would mean we would be close to each other. As I will go there as well. If only I knew which one, because I could get to her somehow. Not that she would believe me if I stood before her. Besides, she wouldn't even know who I am.   
I rub the sleep from my eyes and put my phone down after having sent the email. I throw my legs off the side of the bed and stand on my feet. Sigh. It's too early to be getting up, but I had other things to do. I shouldn't have gone to bed at 5 and getting up at 11:30 was probably a little bit too early when going to bed at 5. Sauntering to the kitchen, I make me some toast and put on the TV so I'm able to watch the Daily News. I get down on the sofa and eat my toast. Fortunately nothing too intense happened when I was asleep, but I would probably rather have heard something tragic than some news that doesn't interest anyone.   
“It's time for grocery shopping,” I groan to myself as I open the fridge to see if there's anything to drink. There wasn't and I have been putting off grocery shopping for the past week. It's just not fun to do. It's boring. And there is a big chance that people would recognize me and either start flirting with me or they'd ask for pictures or autographs. No problems with the latter, but it makes the trip way longer. I usually ask my mother to come with me, so I wouldn't be too lonely doing so and I could discuss the things that are happening with my mother. But I'd just go alone this time.  
Ping. I reach for my phone to see who texted me. Or emailed me. Maybe she emailed me this fast. Unfortunately she didn't. It was Mario asking to grab some lunch later. He was in Dortmund to visit his family. That would be perfect, as I didn't have any other plans for today. Besides grocery shopping.   
I push the cart through the practically empty store, putting in whatever I need. And within half an hour and zero people talking to me, I pay the groceries and head home. I'm glad this went faster than I usual. I fish out my phone, impatient to see what she has replied. But she hasn't. Is she scared? Busy? I'm starting to think all things now, not sure what exactly would be the right thought.   
“Mario!” I say when I open the door and I see my good friend in the door way. I pull him in for a manly hug. The rumors of us being lovers, I don't even know why, are all over the internet, “How are you?”  
“Great, absolutely great,” Mario says as he lets go of my hand. He makes his way to my living room. He's been here way too often and he practically knows where everything is located, “What about you?”  
“I wish I could say that I am better,” I answer as I grab two beers from the fridge and throw him one. He opens it with a pop and sips it. I open mine soon after, “But I'm fine. So you're here on family visit?”  
“Obviously. The folks wants to see me from time to time,” Mario laughs.   
“Of course,” I answer, “How's your girlfriend?” Mario glares at me and laughs.   
“My girlfriend?” He repeats, “Oh you mean Lilly, well we aren't really dating yet, but she's great.” I have heard Mario talk a lot about some Lillian from America and they were getting along great and had a few dates I think, but I assumed they were already dating. But apparently they aren't dating yet. That would come. Mario has some kind of charm that make the ladies fall for him.   
“Oh she isn't,” I say, “Would love to meet her sometime anyways.”  
“I'll keep you to that,” Mario says as he gulps his beer down. I have barely even started on mine, “Ready for lunch?” I nod and glare down at my phone to see if there has been an email yet. I sigh and Mario seems to notice.   
“Is it that girl you told me about last time?” Mario asks and I nod once again.   
“She hasn't emailed me back in hours,” I say to him.   
“She might just be busy, give it some time, if she hasn't emailed you in a week, it's time to worry,” Mario says as he pats my shoulder, “Come on, lover boy, time to go.”  
“You drive,” I say as I walk after him to his car. Grinning, Mario opens up his brand new car and I take a seat next to him. The car even smells new and it's extremely expensive.   
“Do you like this baby?” Mario says as he starts the car. The engine starts roaring and I must agree, this is definitely a nice car. Up on my mental to-buy list. I already owned 4 cars though. He puts it in first gear and slowly drives away to our usual lunch cafe.  
“That one drives away smoothly,” I say as we drive on the autobahn. Perks of living in Germany, you have no speed limits on the autobahn. So Mario is probably driving about 160 km/h and it's great. I love driving fast and I love cars. So does Mario and this is why we are such good friends. Our mutual interests and our love for cars, football and women. And our need for speed.  
“Time for food,” I say as we enter the parking lot. Mario laughs next to me. We are so ready for this.


	4. Chapter 4

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Saturday, May 24, 2014, 13:08PM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: what did I do wrong?

What did I say that made you uncomfortable? You have been ignoring me for a week and I don't even know why. Please, what did I do wrong?

I miss you.  
\---

ELIOSE  
It is difficult to explain to him why we can't meet up. The first reason is most likely that I live in France and I have no money to go anywhere and I expect him to be American and I can't just go to America. The second reason is that he doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I look like and for some reason I like this. I like it like this. If he does like me like I am in my emails, will he still like me when he knows what I look like? I don't know. Maybe it's time to tell him my name.   
I have been ignoring him for the past week now, not sure what to answer to his emails. He has been asking what he's done wrong and actually, he has done nothing wrong. He's a great guy and he's probably too great. Too good to be true. And I don't want to be the one to break his heart, so maybe it's time to come clean about who I am. At least, my name or where I'm from. He knows that I study Journalism but that's all. I could study Journalism in every country of the world.   
I click on the new email icon and I see it's another message from him. He misses me. It just breaks my heart. I miss talking to him as well. I really, really like him. More than I had expected and even if he wants to meet up with me, it should happen after the World Cup, because I'll be spending my time in Brazil, well not the entire time, but for just one game and a few more days. I start to type a new email. Not sure what to type yet.  
“You have done nothing wrong, apart from not telling me who you are and where you are located, because just as you, I want to meet you. But that's not possible. I have no money to travel all the way to the United States and I will go to Brazil soon, so even if we were ever to meet up, it would have to happen after. Besides, if you know who I really am, you're probably not going to like me so much anymore. You're too good for a casual girl like me. I'm not even able to pay for flight tickets and all. I'm sorry.” And then I hit send. Before I can cancel it, it's gone and I'm not sure if this was the right strategy, but I didn't know what to do. I started to freak out. Just like Rosalie said, it's probably best if I find myself a regular French guy, not someone so far away.   
I refresh my inbox over and over again and that's when it strikes to me. His email address. It doesn't end with .com. It ends with .de. And I'm not entirely sure what country that is, but luckily, Google knows best. I end up finding that it's Germany. He is German? I really thought, I mean, I was convinced he was an American. For some reason I start picturing him in Lederhosen. I know it's stereotypical, but I can't help it. Ping. An email pops in. And I start reading it immediately.   
“I'm actually not from the United States, but I'm German, but I hope this was a compliment that my English is great, thanks! And honestly, I'll pay for the tickets if that bothers you so much. I'll like you no matter what you look like and no matter who you are, because I think you're absolutely great. I just hope you'll like me for me and not for what I am. Just please, let me get to know you. Let me get to know the real you.”  
I sigh. I don't know if I'm able to do this. I don't know if I want him to know who I am. And what does he mean with the last sentence? What he is? I doubt that he is a werewolf or anything, so I have no idea what he means with that. I start pacing around the house, nervous. I don't know. Should I send him a picture of myself? Should I tell him my name? I guess it would make things a whole lot easier. It would make things easier to talk about. I could even say that I'm actually kind of in love with … instead of that I'm in love with an unknown guy that I met over the internet.  
“I'm Eloise, I live in France. Nice to meet you.” It's all I send to him. I put my phone down on the table and I walk to the kitchen, looking for anything to eat. I haven't yet lunched and I am starting to get hungry. I decide on yoghurt and sit down in front of the television. It stays quiet for a while. At least a good half hour I get no reply back from him, but I keep patient and keep watching the boring shows on the television I have no interest in.   
My phone rings and it's Rosalie. What a surprise. I sigh deeply and just let it ring. She would hopefully stop I don't pick up the phone. When the ringing finally stops after a long minute I pick up my phone and refresh my email. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Did I scare him away?   
Before I know, I'm taking a seat at Starbucks and order a regular coffee. Yes, how inspiring. Ordering a regular coffee at Starbucks and nothing too fancy or with too many words that I don't even understand. I sit here for some time, usually my friends and I hang out here together, but this time I hadn't heard from them. I had not talked to them in forever and I didn't know why they wouldn't speak to me. I saw some at college a few days ago, but after that, they hadn't text me or hadn't let me know where to hang out this Saturday. So I just wait, maybe they'd pop in. I'm tucked in a corner with a good view on the entrance, yet the people coming in wouldn't be the first to see me. They'd obviously be pulled to the menus hanging on the wall. I sip my coffee and the door clicks open and I gaze over to see who comes in now. This is a part of Paris where the tourists don't go to, so it's not that filled with people and most of them live near me, so I know some of them. They might be in the same apartment building.   
“That wasn't too difficult,” I hear the person coming in say to someone else, “I mean, just don't let Eloise know and she won't even question where we are.” Some other people started laughing and I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I look at them, they are my friends, well scrap that. They were my friends.  
“I'm so glad that annoying bitch isn't there, now we can finally have some real fun,” I hear a girls voice say and that hurts even more. I really thought we were too old for bullying now. And that we'd grown out of it and learned to handle things like mature people. But apparently not. Of course, they don't know that I'm here, but still. I feel tears coming up, but I want to stay strong and not cry. And when I hear their voices going away, I get up, try to avoid eye contract and slowly walk home. This wasn't my idea of an ideal Saturday afternoon. Especially not if he doesn't email me back.  
At my arrival at home, I hop under the hot shower and let my tears stream down my face. Muffled sobs escape my mouth. I still feel sad, but I have to stay strong. I don't need friends like them. I need friends like I had in High School, but they all moved away. They didn't move to Paris, some even went abroad. My best friend, who I barely have contact with anymore, moved to Australia. Why the hell would you want to move to Australia? Bugs and spiders and crocodiles and all. But that didn't bother her. It was her dream to go there and she made her dream reality. Now it's my turn. I have to make my dream reality, but what is my dream?  
I step out of the shower, using a towel to dry my body. I stare at myself in the mirror and I look tired, and I look sad. When I walk to the bedroom, I click on my phone to find an email him. I smile. Just a little.


	5. Chapter 5

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Saturday, May 24, 2014, 17:23PM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: RE: 

Hi, I'm Marco and I'm from Germany. Nice to meet you. 

Can we meet now?   
\---

MARCO  
I'm not quite sure having sent this email is the correct strategy. But she told me who she is. Now I kinda felt like I had to at least tell her my name and where I was from. Yet it felt weird wanting to meet up with her. She is great, at least, that's what I like to imagine her. I hope she receives my email and I hope she will email me back as soon as she can.   
I have nothing special to do today. I just sit here in peace and I watch a game on the television. Mario and I did have a great time a few days ago. He told me all about Lillian, who's an American girl that he met in Munich. I'm really happy for him. He deserves to be loved, just as much as Eloise does. Eloise. Isn't it a beautiful name. I wonder how to pronounce it. I haven't heard of this name before, so I'll probably make it sound even worse than it's supposed to sound.   
I throw my legs on the sofa and before I know it, I'm nearly falling asleep and I haven't even had dinner yet. I close my eyes and think about what plans I have for this week. I have a few games coming up. Practice games before the World Cup starts. I think we have to play against Armenia and against another country, but I can't really remember what country. I don't really care about most of them, I mean, it's all about us winning in the end. Not about remembering the names of the countries.  
I'm extremely excited for the World Cup. I have always enjoyed watching the World Cup and the European competitions. But this time I'm actually playing in the World Cup. In 2012 I played in the European Championship and it was amazing. It was so overwhelming to play on this level. People started remembering my name when I scored the first goal for Germany in the national team. And now I've been selected for the World Championship. I can't believe how far I've come. As a kid, playing for all the small clubs, I didn't believe I would ever come this far. And now, as a 25-year old, I finally got where I wanted to be. Just the World Championships were where I wanted to be and now I couldn't wait for it to finally start. Less than a month.   
And that's when it struck to me. I should invite Eloise to one of our games in Brazil. I will pay for her, she wouldn't be able to resist. I sit up and click my phone on. No new emails. I tap on my phone a few times, hoping it will refresh, but nothing pops up and I get up to my legs and walk to the kitchen – that I rarely use, I mean, I prefer some take out, it's easier and it's done sooner, but this time it's not an option, as I'm lazy and I'm too nervous for whatever Eloise will reply to my email.   
I start forming a picture in my mind and if I could actually draw, I would have probably drawn my vision of her on paper yet, but I can't draw. I'm more a sports kind of guy, not good at languages or anything creative, unless you would consider sports to be creative, and I remember my teacher in high school saying you could make anything creative. But I never believed him. I still don't know how I ever passed my creative classes. I mean, I was way better at PE and all of the other things. Learning wasn't something I enjoyed and that's why I never really decided to go to university. Maybe I should've. I mean, I should've chosen something when I wouldn't break through as a football player, but I am happy the way it is now.   
I look through the cupboards to see what I have in stock, but there is nothing too interesting. I groan, not feeling like going outside. I end up making an egg and some sandwiches, really boring, but it works for now. I get back to the sofa and continue watching the game. Actually, I can assure you, my days are rather boring. I do almost nothing, and the clock keeps on ticking. I go to games, I play some games, I go to trainings and I do the training. I sometimes go to the gym and some days, like today are spend doing practically nothing but hanging in front of the television. I sometimes go visit my parents that live on the other side of Dortmund and when I'm feeling like it, I might even visit the pub or some of my friends that I rarely see because they actually have an office job and they have children, so I rarely see them. Unfortunately. We used to be good friends back in high school, but they got on with their lives, got a girlfriend, got married and all that stuff. I wanna get married some time.  
And again I feel myself refreshing my email. My mind is not focused on the game on the television either and I can't wait patiently anymore for the email. And I kind of feel a temptation to send her another email. I lie down on the sofa again and close my eyes, while listening to the applauding and the yelling of the audience on the television.  
There is the Eiffel Tower and I'm in the middle of Paris. I smell croissants around me and the smell of Crêpes is crawling up my nose. I just remembered that I am meeting Eloise here in the middle of Paris. She had agreed on meeting me here, but I have been standing here, with a bouquet of flowers in my right hand, not sure if she is ever going to show up. A group of Chinese people walk past me – or are it Japanese people? I look to the left, and back to the Eiffel Tower. It's getting busier the longer I wait. She should have been here a few hours ago. Have I been stood up? Maybe she just doesn't know what I look like. Perhaps I am just freaking out. The flowers drop out of my hand and...  
My eyes shoot open and I can't remember having fallen asleep. I yawn and I check the time. It's a little over half past 9 in the evening. I groan but check my email again, having remembered what I had written to her. I think about my dream, not sure if this is what is going to happen. I hope it would at least be a little more romantic, maybe like what you see in the movies, where the couples that haven't seen each other in a long time run up to each other and the girl wraps her legs around the guy's waist. But no, that is probably not going to be the case in our situation. I don't even know whether she likes me. And waiting for her replies makes me very unconfident about myself. And I'm Marco Reus. I should be really confident. But no, I'm not.   
I glare back at my phone, and yes. There is an email this time. There are even a couple, but there is online one of them I'm interested in right now. The others are either spam or messages from my parents with pictures. They are on holidays in Canada right now and they like to update me, because both of my parents don't know how to send pictures through SMS or any of the apps you could possibly use. So they stick to emails. It's fine though, I like that they update me.  
I click on Eloise's email and I smile when I read the words carefully. She wants to meet me. She even wants to meet me as soon as possible. But she says she has no money to do so, but that wouldn't be a problem for me, because I'd definitely be willing to pay for her. I get really excited and start looking at flight tickets from Paris to a city in Germany. Seeing which one is cheaper. Berlin perhaps, or Düsseldorf. Now I want it to happen as soon as possible. I have waited for a few months and now it's finally gotten to the point where I can meet her. I have to arrange this before she says goes back to no, because she starts to get scared. I am scared, I mean, she could possibly be a catfish. I'm really sure she isn't. I book a ticket from Paris to Berlin and a ticket to the game of Germany versus Armenia and email her the details. It's going fast now.


	6. Chapter 6

From: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Sent: Wednesday, June 4, 2014, 08:45AM  
To: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Subject: see you later

On my way to Germany now. I hope this is not a joke.  
\---  
ELOISE  
And there I was. Suitcase packed at the airport of Paris on my way to Berlin. I had never been too far out of the country and I hadn't been to Germany before, so this was definitely a trip of a lifetime. I had been wondering for the past few days how Marco, yes I finally know his name, could afford all of this, because the price was visible on the ticket and it definitely said a price over a hundred euros on there.   
In other news, my plane arrives in about 15 minutes and I am sitting in first class – thanks Marco – next to an older woman playing sudoku. She had been quiet for the entire trip, which I am definitely glad about, because actually I'm horrible at small talk. I'm imagining my 'date' with Marco to go a little bit like this: There we sit in the audience, we don't really talk because we are 1) too awkward and 2) too much in love? Then we'd probably quietly watch the game. Marco seems like a guy that gets really out of his mind during games so I expect him to make lots of noises and accidentally talk German to me, which would make me laugh and just giggle a little. I don't know. I hope it would be better than this. I get my seatbelt on and I pack my belongings back into the handbag I took with me.   
About 30 minutes later I'm out in there in Germany. And it feels weird. Marco said he'd wait for me out there, with like one of those cute signs when people are picking up members of a host family. I am looking out for my name, but unfortunately, I can't find it. I sigh deeply, not sure what to do now, because I trust Marco, he'd be here waiting for me. And I'm not going to leave until he's here to pick me up. I check for free WiFi, because I have no connection here in Germany. I want to see if he'd emailed me that he'd be late or anything. No free WiFi here. I sigh and I look at all the family members being reunited and I feel like a loner, like this is all a joke.  
As all the people move away, and I am just sighing at my phone, I feel a little tapping on my back and I turn around. A tall, blonde guy in standing in front of me and I raise my eyebrow. He holds a little A4 sized paper in his hands and raises it to me. In a very tiny, not so neat handwriting it says: “Eloise”. And yes, it has one of those little hearts as a period on the I. I giggle and look up at him. The heigh different is astonishing, I mean, I'm not that small, but he is rather tall.   
“You found me,” I say softly.  
“I found you,” he answers smoothly. I don't know what to do to break the awkward silence and I pull him into a hug. He smells good, he smells really good. Scientifically, you're attracted to scent. And I'm definitely attracted to his smell. If this is Marco though. I'm not quite sure yet. I let him go, with the thought that this could possibly be a taxi driver – although he didn't seem like one. He was wearing fashionable clothing, not a suit like you'd expect of a taxi driver.   
“You're Marco, right?” I ask him and he laughs and nods. I laugh back at him and then it's again silent, “I didn't expect you'd turn up.”   
“Why wouldn't I?” He asks me and he carefully puts away the paper with my name in his back and relocates his baseball cap. I'm unsure why he is wearing that inside, I mean, there's no sun in the airport. I don't bother asking him and when he has stuffed away the paper, he carefully takes my hand. I feel myself blushing and I grab his hand a little tighter. I don't dare looking at him, but we slowly step through the airport, outside to the parking lot. I look around, trying to find a car that would take me to his place. Because I am assuming he lives in Berlin. He never really told me. He squeezes my hand and I dare to look up. I feel my heart beating in my throat, because I'm nervous.   
“We still have to go by train for a few hours, will you be able to do that without falling asleep?” He asks me and his English is endearing. It has a little raw edge to it. I wonder how I sound with my horrible accent. I hope Marco won't mind.   
“I think I will survive,” I say.   
We step in a tram and a few minutes later we are at the station where we take the train to where Marco lives. Dortmund. We'd have to travel again for the game against Armenia, which Marco seemed to be really excited about. He talked me through all the details and all the things that I had to know about the German National Team. I'm not quite familiar with that team, I only know the French team really and some details about the Portuguese team, because of Rosalie.   
The train ride is long and tiring. It's quiet too. Marco doesn't talk a lot, and I hope it's just because he is nervous. But he keeps holding my hand. Sometimes I look at him, when he doesn't look at me. And whenever he looks back at me, I pretend to be looking outside, but secretly I'm just looking at his reflection that shows in the window. I'm sure he knows. He smiles at me, and then lightly squeezes my hand. He is cute, his face, his jaw line, his eyes, all about him is perfect and I wonder why I never met him before. I wonder what he looks like without the baseball cap.   
It takes about 4 hours until we finally arrive at Dortmund Central Station. I feel separated from Marco when he lets go of my hand for a few seconds to take my suitcase, but he quickly takes my hand again. I hope he will talk more when we arrive at his house.   
A few more minutes in Marco's car. And I must admit, he definitely has one of those typical German cars. I mean, in my head, every German drives a Volkwagen or an Audi, which is probably not the case, but this is just me. He parks in front of a big house, which I assume is his and I'm glad to finally get the chance to fall asleep soon. I look at him and he looks at me. And we laugh. We laugh like teenagers that have just fallen in love. I get out of the car and Marco follows me to the front door with my suitcase in his hands. He opens the door with his keys and I'm welcomed by a huge hall and I gaze around, not sure what to think now. Do I really know this guy?   
I don't. He lives in a huge house and I'm not even sure what kind of job he has in order to be able to afford this place. I don't know what to do now. I look at him and he takes of his cap and I smile at his hair that I can now clearly see. He is really cute. He is definitely the type of guy I would date, given he is also a very kind and caring guy, but just by the looks I mean.   
“Should I show you your room?” he asks and I nod. I'd love to be able to lie down on the bed for some time. It's only 7 in the evening and I'm surprisingly tired. I follow Marco up the long stairs and I count the doors until he opens the one that leads to a bedroom, where I will be staying. I'm glad he understands that I would rather sleep alone in a room, instead of in bed with him. I mean, we'd have to know each other first. I guess. Not necessarily, but I mean, it would make more sense.  
“I'll leave you to get comfortable I guess, I'll be in the kitchen preparing some food, okay?” Marco asks. I nod at him.   
“Thanks,” I say and he smiles at me, “For everything I mean, for all of this, I wouldn't be able to afford this ever.”  
“Don't worry about it,” Marco says and he closes the door behind him. I miss his hands in mine and I miss him around. It is kinda lonely. I lie down on the bed and I start thinking. I really want to kiss him.


	7. Chapter 7

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de  
Sent: Thursday, June 5, 2014, 09:23AM  
To: ELO135@yahooh.com  
Subject: want some breakfast?

Didn’t want to wake you up so early, so I thought this was the easiest way to reach you.  
\---

MARCO  
I send her an email. I don’t want to wake her up. I actually do want to wae her up and storm in her room and kiss her on the cheek and on her forehead and basically everywhere, but that might be considered weird. I’m not going to do that. It might scare her away and then she might be off to France before my big reveal. Because I planned it all out. It’s going to be one epic reveal and she will be very surprised and possibly angry for not telling her earlier that she’s staying in the house of a famous German football player.   
Last night, Eloise immediately went to sleep. She even skipped dinner. I’m pretty sure she was really tired and I didn’t want to wake her up. When I woke up this morning the food was gone. I put it in the microwave if she woke up in the middle of the night and was hungry. I put a note on the fridge and apparently she saw that and prepared her some food. When that was, I don’t know. I was vast asleep.  
I take a seat on the couch and wait patiently until I hear small and soft footsteps move down on the stairs. I smile and get up immediately to make her some breakfast. Eloise steps in the room and smiles at me standing in the kitchen. She might get the idea that I’m a great cook, which I am definitely not.  
“Want an egg?” I ask her. She nods and stands next to me, at a reasonable distance. I kind of wish she would stand closer to me, but I dont want to force her and make her feel uncomfortable. Then again, I wasn’t wearing a shirt just yet.  
“Aren’t you cold?” she gestures to my bare chest. It’s like she could read my mind. I shake my head.   
“I’m not, otherwise I would be wearing a shirt,” I answer, “It’s super warm outside, have you checked on het balcony yet?” She shakes her head and walks out of the kitchen, into the bathroom. In the meantime I make her some toast and an egg and place it on the kitchen table. I haven’t eaten myself, so I return to the kitchen to make some for myself. When she returns I smile and she sits down at the table and mumbles something in a language I don’t particularly understand…yet. I’d love to learn her language to make the communication barrier a little smaller.   
A few minutes later I sit down next opposite of her and I look at her. She is so beautiful. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I’m so glad to have her here ow finally. I don’t know if this will blossom in a relationship, I don’t know if we are meant to be like that, but I don’t care. I am privileged to have here now for as long as it lasts.  
“You have a really beautiful house,” she says while eating the buttered toast, “What kind of work do you do to be able to afford this?”  
“Thanks, but it gets lonely if you live alone in such a big house,” I answer, “I currently am unemployed actually, but I inherited this from my grandparents, who did make lots of money over the years.” I don’t know what else I should have said. She would wonder why I wouldn’t be at work right now and this would be the best solution to tell her something without telling her the truth yet. But she will figure out soon. She sips from her orange juice and I smile at her and she raises an eyebrow.   
“What?” she says with a very French accent, it sounds adorable. I chuckle and shake my head.   
“Nothing special,” I say, “You’re just beautiful.”  
“Don’t say that,” she mumbles and shoves the last bite of egg in her mouth. It’s quiet after that, for around a few minutes. It’s excruciating and awkward. She looks at me and I look back at her. It’s like a staring competition, filled with awkward chuckles and blushed cheeks. Just looking at her makes me feel warm on the inside. I don’t know anything about her and how can I possibly feel this strongly for a girl I met on accident through the Internet? Mario knows about it. But I wish I could tell someone else about it. Someone with more experience, someone that knows how to handle situations like this. Mario is dating this American girl, at least, that’s what he really wants, they’re just going out on dates. But that’s more than what happens between Eloise and I.   
“Soooooo…” she says.   
“Sooooooo….” I say even longer. She bursts out in laughter, “What do you wanna do today?”  
“Show me Dortmund,” she asks. I could do that, but that would mean people would see me and scream and hover over me and I don’t know how to explain situations like that to her. Maybe I should come clean.   
“I could do that, but perhaps I have to tell you something first,” I say to her. She looks at me and I think she is wondering now I have to come clean about.   
“Please don’t tell me you have a girlfriend or anything, because then all my hopes of being with you would be shattered,” she says quickly and before she knows it, it’s already out of her mouth and I heard it. She covers up her mouth, “I didn’t mean to say that, sorry.”  
“It’s okay,” I say, “I feel the same way.”  
“You do?” she asks.  
“I do,” I say and I take her hand that has ben resting on the table. Her hand is warm and sweaty, but I don’t care, “I’m really glad that you’re here.”  
“I’m really glad to be here as well, I wouldn’t want to miss it in any way,” she answers and I think she has forgotten about the fact that I wanted to tell her something. I don’t know how to do this.


End file.
